UC-NRLF 


am 


GIFT   OF 


':." 


BERTHA  J.  CLEMANS 

Author  of 
"The  Guiding  Star  of  the  East" 


PRESS  OF  SHAW  &  RILEY 
LO8  ANGELES 


Copyright,  1914 
BERTHA  J.  CLEMANS 


CONTENTS 

Just  This  is  California 5 

Waves  of  the  Pacific 6 

Yosemite  7 

Poppies    8 

Mariner's  Song 9 

Out  on  the  Trail 10 

A  Memory  of  the  Desert 1 1 

M\)  California  Garden 1 2 

The  Mocking  Bird  1  3 

Sunset  ....14 


Dedicated  to 
MY  MOTHER 


JUST  THIS  IS  CALIFORNIA 

O  land  where  nature  gives  her  best, 
My  happy  homeland  in  the  West, 
Where  roses  blossom  rich  and  rare 
With  colorings  so  pure  and  fair. 
And  perfume  sweeter  than  elsewhere — 
Just  this  is  California. 

The  land  of  romance,  song  and  flowers, 
Of  hills  and  vales  and  shady  bowers. 
Where  sJ^ies  are  clearer  and  more  blue. 
And  birds  sing  sweeter*  songs  for  you. 
And  friendships  grow  more  fond  and  trm 
Just  this  is  California. 

A  land  where  golden  dreams  come  true, 
Fulfilment  of  the  hopes  you  knew, 
Where  balmy  breezes  softly  blow. 
And  golden  poppies  gleam  and  glow, 
A  foretaste  here  of  Heaven  we  know — 
Just  this  is  California. 


WAVES  OF  THE  PACIFIC 

O  the  waves  of  old  Pacific, 

See  them  roll  upon  our  strand, 
Listen  to  the  song  they're  singing 

As  they  dash  upon  the  sand; 
'77s  the  song  of  Western  waters 

Of  our  sea  so  calm  and  blue, 
They  are  whisp'ring,  whisp'ring  softly, 

Their  wave  secrets  now  to  you. 

O  the  waves  of  old  Pacific, 

How  they  lull  at  eventide: 
When  the  day  at  last  has  faded 

And  the  stars  no  longer  hide: 
It  is  then  the  rushing  breakers 

In  sweet  rhythm  ever  roll, 
O  starlit  old  Pacific, 

California  is  thy  goal. 

O  the  waves  of  old  Pacific, 

Tales  of  wonder  you  might  tell, 
'Neath  your  crest  where  scenic  gardens 

Still  abound  in  moss  and  shell: 
In  gay  fairy  caves  of  coral 

Siren  singers  fair  abide; 
'Tis  their  song  you  sweetly  echo 

With  your  ever  rolling  tide. 

O  the  leaves  of  old  Pacific, 

From  the  Orient  far  away, 
With  your  ceaseless  song  you've  traveled, 

Rolling  on  from  day  to  day: 
You  have  gently  pissed  in  passing 

Island  gems  of  which  we  boast. 
Bade  them  farewell;  bounding  onward, 

To  our  California  coast. 

O  the  waves  of  old  Pacific, 

Emerald  sea,  so  clear  and  calm, 
With  melodious  rhythm  rippling 

On  our  shores  with  cooling  balm, 
While  embracing  spray  caresses, 

As  the  swelling  tide  rolls  higher, 
On  the  borders  of  our  homeland — 

Land  of  joy  and  heart's  desire. 


YOSEMITE 

A  wonderland  of  beauty. 

And  a  garden  of  delight, 
Where  the  mountains  in  their  grandeur 

Lift  their  peaks  of  lofty  height; 
LiJ^e  the  walls  of  old  Cathedrals, 

In  majesty  they  rise, 
As  meeting  dome  of  turquoise  blue 

In  Western  sunny  skies. 

Far  below  the  nestling  valley. 

In  verdure  cool  is  seen, 
Nature's  corridor  where  worshipers 

Pay  homage  to  the  scene: 
Here  threads  the  silver  river, 

An  ever  flowing  fount, 
Fed  by  the  crystal  waterfall 

From  granite  spiral  mount. 

Bright  rays  of  golden  sunbeams 

Come  shimmering  through  the  pines. 
And  cast  fantastic  shadows 

O'er  the  festoons  of  woodbines; 
While  boulders  glint  and  glisten, 

Sacred  altar  fires  alight, 
Sending  forth  their  silent  blessings 

In  gleams  of  radiance  bright. 

A  fairy  land  where  wooded  trails 

O'erhung  with  moss  and  fern, 
Lead  onward,  winding  here  and  there. 

Enchantments  to  discern; 
Where  the  dewy  brakeferns  cluster 

About  the  moss-grown  aisle, 
While  arches  quaint  are  garlanded 

With  soft  fronds  that  beguile. 

And  oh,  the  singing  of  the  pines, 

With  cadence  sweet  and  low. 
And  the  murmuring  of  waters 

As  winding  on  they  flow; 
The  melody  and  rhythm 

Of  that  ever  ceaseless  stream 
Like  notes  of  magic  music 

We  sometimes  hear  in  dream; 
And  listening  we  fancy 

That  the  Heavenly  choir  we  hear. 
As  those  strains  of  Nature-music 

Are  wafted  ever  near. 

It  is  here  the  Master-builder 

Has  wrought  with  perfect  care, 
In  majesty  and  splendor. 

And  with  beauty,  rich  and  rare; 
Nature's  paradise — Yosemite — 

Earth's  haven  so  blest. 
The  pride  of  California, 

The  Eden  of  the  West! 


POPPIES 

On  Western  plains  and  Western  hills. 

Where  golden  poppies  grow, 
A  living  sea  of  waving  rills, 

Alight  with  radiant  glow. 

The  Golden  West  is  thy  native  home, 

'Tis  here  you  reign  supreme, 
In  fields  or  plains,  where'er  you  roam — 

California's  own  flower  queen. 

Your  sunfyissed  petals  and  soft  fern  leaves. 

Are  dancing  with  delight, 
As  cooling  breeze  from  Western  seas 

Ever  wave  your  blossoms  bright. 

There's  subtle  charm  in  your  cup  of  gold, 

Alluring  mystic  balm, 
The  faey  to  land  of  dreams  you  hold, 

To  oblivion  sweet  and  calm. 


8 


MARINER'S  SONG  TO  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

O  the  Golden  Gate  is  a  haven  sweet, 
To  mariners  bold,  a  safe  retreat; 

And  they  sing  a  song, 

As  they  roll  along, 
T'ward  the  portals  of  the  Golden  Gate. 

The  billows  may  roll  and  the  high  seas  sweep, 
The  wind  may  moan,  and  the  storm  clouds  weep. 

Though  the  boat  rides  high, 

Just  beyond  so  nigh — 
Lies  the  harbor  of  the  Golden  Gate. 

See  the  rock  and  shoals  as  they  cut  the  spray, 
As  the  wild  waves  dash  ever  on  their  Way; 

Hear  the  sea  gulls  cry, 

Overhead  so  nigh, 
Sailing  on  toward  the  Golden  Gate. 

O  the  Western  Sea,  famous  Golden  Gate, 
With  portals  ajar  to  the  Golden  State. 

'Tis  a  welcome  true, 

That  we  give  to  you — 
As  we  sail  through  your  Golden  Gate. 


ON  THE  OLD,  OLD  TRAIL 

Out  on  the  trail,  on  the  old  mountain  trail, 

With  its  well  beaten  path  that  leads  from  the  vale, 

Narrow  and  rocky,  sometimes  rough  and  steep 

As  winding  by  precipice  dark  and  deep. 

And  by  walls  that  lift  to  a  dizzy  height, 

Appalling  in  massive  grandeur  and  might; 

Away  in  this  beautiful  spot  exiled, 

Nature  is  robed  in  her  garments  wild. 

'  Tis  a  wonderful  scene,  with  ever  a  change 

As  we  travel  on  up  the  mountain  range. 

Past  sister  peaks  that  about  us  rise 

Meeting  the  dome  of  the  clear  blue  skies. 

These  Western  mountains,  they  have  no  peer; 

A  marvel  of  beauty,  we  view  them  here. 

From  the  old,  old  trail  of  the  mountain  side 

Where  Nature  s  vista  is  broad  and  wide. 

Out  on  the  trail,  on  the  old  mountain  trail. 
Above  where  hangs  the  soft  purple  veil, 
That  covers  the  world  with  its  folds  of  maze, 
With  its  indistinct  mantle  of  purple  haze, 
Away  in  this  clarified  region  serene, 
Following  on  in  this  magic  scene, 
To  the  summit,  where  grow  the  spruce  and  pine, 
To  the  goal  at  last,  to  the  end  of  the  line — 
The  line  of  the  old,  old  mountain  trail, 
The  trail  high  above  the  soft  purple  veil. 


10 


A  MEMORY  OF  THE  DESERT 

I  stood  in  the  vastness  of  that  strange  land, 
With  its  wide  expanse  of  glistening  sand 
Shining  like  snow  in  the  soft  silver  light, 
In  the  silence,  the  silence  of  the  night. 

And  there  about  in  fantastic  array, 
Yuccas — all  gnarled  and  twisted  and  gray; 
Some  there  were  pointing  with  long  ghostly  arm. 
Like  evil  dream-spectres  that  haunt  and  alarm. 

So  enthralling  and  weird  the  scene  did  seem — 
Like  a  strange  vision  in  fanciful  dream — 
Spellbound  I  stood  in  that  stillness  intense, 
In  that  far -reaching,  wayside  land  immense; 
While  wafted  on  in  the  ozone  so  fair, 
Pungent  sage-brush  permeated  the  air. 

O  the  wild  beauty,  the  thrill  of  delight, 
With  the  silver  lamps  of  Heaven  alight! 
In  reverence  I  bared  my  head  in  that  land, 
Made  waste  and  wild  by  Cod's  infinite  hand. 


11 


MY  CALIFORNIA  GARDEN 

/'ve  a  beautiful  garden,  a  rose  garden  rare, 

Where  grow  the  sweet  blossoms,  the  blossoms  so  fair, 

There  are  white  ones,  and  red  ones,  and  yellow  ones  too, 

And  glorious  pink  °"es  a#  flecked  with  the  dew; 

But  the  sweetest  of  all  of  the  blossoms  I  know. 

Are  the  little  pink  rose  buds  that  daintily  grow 

In  my  beautiful  garden,  my  garden  so  rare, 

With  its  glorious  blossoms,  its  blossoms  so  fair. 

In  my  beautiful  garden  'neaih  shady  palm  trees, 

Where  the  carpet  of  blue  grass  n>aves  soft  In  the  breeze. 

And  where  violets  nestle  so  close  at  my  feet, 

As  they  mingle  their  perfume  with  other  flowers  sweet; 

It  is  here  that  the  climbers  and  ramblers  abound, 

And  the  lovely  bride  roses  with  blushes  are  found; 

But  the  sweet  Cecile  Bruners  are  fairest  of  all 

Of  the  many  sweet  blossoms  that  grow  by  the  wall. 

There's  an  orange  tree  that  grows  in  my  garden  so  fair. 
Hung  with  little  gold  lanterns  of  nectar  so  rare, 
And  pure  waxen  blossoms  like  stars  shining  bright, 
As  exhaling  their  fragrance  of  perfect  delight; 
By  the  pathway  beyond  chrysanthemums  grow — 
Cold  and  purple,  and  white,  side  by  side  in  a  row; 
But  the  dearest  flower  friends  in  my  garden  I  greet 
Are  the  dainty  pink  buds,  Cecile  Bruners  so  sweet. 


12 


THE  MOCKING  BIRD 

There  s  a  mocking  bird  that  sings  to  me. 

Up  in  that  old  eucalyptus  free, 
He  sings  the  very  merriest  lay — 

And  knows  not  a  care  the  whole  long  day, 

In  the  early  dawn  his  voice  I  hear. 
As  cooing  so  gently  to  his  dear; 

The  tender  warblings  sweet  and  low, 
Are  meant  for  his  little  mate,  I  know. 

With  a  lilting  note  so  clear  and  light. 
He  sings  in  the  balmy  Summer's  night; 

While  the  happy  echoes  float  to  me. 
He  carols  away  so  joyfully. 

When  I  sing,  he  sings,  this  feathered  witch. 
And  whistles  so  well  I  know  not  which 

It  may  happen  to  be,  bird  or  child, 
This  gay  little  imitator  wild. 

How  he  flits  with  dainty  wings  out-spread. 
With  mischief  in  every  quirk  of  his  head; 

While  he  winks  his  saucy  eyes  so  bright, 
And  chirrups  away  from  sheer  delight. 

To  your  loving  matet  loyal  are  you — 
O  little  song-bird  of  brownish  hue; 

While  you  guard  with  zealous  eye  and  care. 
The  cradle  nest  of  your  birdlings  there. 

O  the  anthem  sweet  of  melody. 

Up  there  in  that  old  California  tree — 

By  the  feathered  choir  of  songsters  fair. 
The  mocking-birds'  lilting  sweet  and  rare. 


13 


SUNSET 

Floating  away  where  the  rifting  is  high 

On  banks  of  sea  foam  in  the  turquoise  sky, 
Sapphire  and  gold,  'midst  the  emerald  and  blue. 

With  bright  shimmering  lights  of  deep  rosy  hue. 
While  glints  of  yellow  with  glimmering  sheen, 

Are  flecked  with  tintings  of  violet  and  green; 
There  in  lucent  softness  filtering  through 

The  crystal  light  to  the  dome  of  blue. 
Below  the  shades  deepen  in  brilliance  bold, 

As  darkens  the  glow  of  the  burnished  gold; 
Its  splendor  dazzles,  its  beauty  thrills, 

As  the  waves  of  glory  with  rippling  rills 
Are  wooed  by  the  Suns  enchantment  bright, 

In  happy  abandonment  to  delight. 
Iridescent  glory,  splendor  supreme, 

This  marvelous  vision,  this  heavenly  scene: 
There  silently  floating,  floating  away 

This  vista  of  beauty  at  close  of  day — 
Bidding  farewell  to  the  purple  and  gold, 

While  nighCs  silver  shadows  gently  unfold. 


14 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 

AN  INITIAL  FINE"  OF  25  CENTS 

OVERDUE. 


LD  21-100m-7,'33 


YC   14635 


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